


Going Down

by 3_modes_Ace_Kat



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, I mention the word 'cock' but nothing happens, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Non-Sexual Submission, Pet Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28861095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3_modes_Ace_Kat/pseuds/3_modes_Ace_Kat
Summary: Sometimes, Oscar needs to get out of his head. Sometimes, that’s hard to do. Thankfully, Zolf is good at helping with this.
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	Going Down

**Author's Note:**

> Non-sexual pet play, and kink that is wanted, it’s just hard to let go sometimes. It’s completely consensual.

Wilde is usually a good puppy who likes to go where he’s told, both because he likes being called good and because it’s soothing to not be in charge.

But today, he’s busy, there’s too much to do, too much work and too many things swirling in his head and when Zolf comes in, he can’t get into the mind space. The collar is there, he loves wearing it, loves that Zolf never drags him around by it, preferring scarves and lapels as a hand hold. Some part of him wants to go down on his belly and rest his head by Zolf’s feet and know that things will be taken care of. But he isn't able to fully reach that corner of his brain that lets him rest a while.

So when Zolf settles on the table, legs on either arm rest, bracketing him, Oscar can’t help but growl, low and deep in his throat.

“Down.”

And Oscar starts to drop to his knees but he can’t seem to fold them, hands already reaching for his work. But his words are gone already, half his mind shifting to that warm sweet place and half trying desperately to fight it.

Zolf places a hand on the back of his neck, pushing and it makes Oscar toss his head, snap at the hand.

Zolf’s eyes go flinty, a thing Wilde hasn’t seen in ages and it makes his knees flex, his butt scootch forward just a little.

“If you won’t go down, I’m perfectly willing to *make* you.”

There’s a whine in the back of Oscar’s throat even as he struggles against himself.

He’s sliding down but snapping and growling and it’s so hard, even as he wants to splay on his back and be petted and given treats.

“Alright then. The hard way it is.”

The hand on the back of his neck slides up and *twists*. It hurts. It hurts so much and the pain feels so good, rushing to his feet, his cock, his head, his hands. It leaves tingles in its wake, and distracts him just enough that Zolf can drag him out of the chair, away from the desk and on to the ground.

Once there, the fight in Oscar’s limbs reasserts itself and he lands on his hands and knees, spinning to try and get at Zolf, even with the hand pulling at him. There’s a vague thought of scratching him, maybe a bite or two.

He doesn’t get that far.

“None of that” Zolf growls, and it’s deeper than anything Wilde can manage, even as an arm comes up and catches him under the arms, pushing him back on his heels.

From there, Zolf has the leverage and he uses it to ruthless advantage, shoving Oscar off balance and onto his back. Oscar tries to fight it, scrabbling at Zolf’s back, one leg kicking out ineffectually.

It doesn’t help. Instead, Zolf presses him further into the ground, forcing his arms up, exposing his torso. Oscar tries to curl up but one of Zolf’s hands catches his leg and just pushes.

It’s very easy to forget the raw strength that makes up Zolf’s form as he so rarely uses it against comrades. Oscar is suddenly very aware of just how weak he is comparatively.

“Legs down.”

He tries to struggle, just a little. He’s losing to the siren call of peace in the back of his mind and the intractability of Zolf's arms but it’s the principal of the matter by now.

“Legs down and spread them.” The sound reverberates through Oscar and it feels good. It feels so good, and he’s obeying before his higher brain functions can catch up.

“There we go, that’s better.”

Zolf’s eyes are glittering, and Oscar can see them now, with his arms held above his head. He can’t look down, can’t see what the other hand is doing. There’s a shock of cold as his robes are pushed apart, exposing his torso. Then there’s a searing line of heat as Zolf’s hand, so startlingly large now that Oscar can’t follow it, lands on his belly and presses down.

“You’re going to be my good boy, Oscar. I’m not afraid to keep you here till you learn your place. You understand?”

The nod is frantic and Oscar can’t help but arch to chase that pressure and warmth, when Zolf lifts his hand away.

“Alright. You can have some more.”

And then that hand is pressing him down again, grounding him into the floor.

It. Feels. Amazing.

“There we go. I’m going to let go of your arms, and you’re going to keep them there, yeah?”

Another nod, slower and the growl that’s been the background noise for the last little while starts to stutter and dwindle.

“Good boy. There’s my good boy. I knew you could behave.”

One of Zolf’s hands is now buried in Oscar’s hair, stroking and scratching, while the other makes slow dragging passes from his collarbones to his lower belly.

“There we go.” Zolf’s voice is hushed now, leaning a bit more weight in, and Oscar melts under him, vision going fuzzy around the edges as he sinks down.

“Knew you could do it.” Oscar’s growls have tapered off completely, and he’s panting a little. The delirious panting of joy.

The strokes are soften and it makes Oscar whine, just in the back of his throat.

“Alright, my sweet boy. I can take a hint.” Zolf strokes harder, settling him. It’s easier to let go, now that every part of Oscar’s brain has caught up to the fact that he’s not getting away from this. That’s he’s here, now, because Zolf put him there, and that’s where Oscar was going to stay.

“On your side for me, boy. “ Zolf says, tapping his side and Oscar immediately curves around, wanting that hand back on his belly. A little maneuvering, and his head is in Zolf’s lap, one hand buried in silky soft hair, a delicious toy in his mouth, and Zolf’s sure steady hand at the heart of him, unyielding and protecting.

“Good boy. My very good boy”


End file.
